


Thin Ice

by bitch_I_might_be



Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Indulgent, This is literally so self indulgent, Washington be like Don't Talk To Me Or My Son Ever Again, Washington isn't exactly homophobic in this he's just a concerned dad, a very threatening shovel talk, both John and Washington address Alexander by pet names in this because I am affection starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitch_I_might_be/pseuds/bitch_I_might_be
Summary: A night of working late and kissing Alexander is derailed when their general walks in on them, and John finds out a few things, including but not limited to the face General Washington makes when he is suppressing the urge to personally tear John limb from limb, and the fact that it's practically impossible to hide anything from the man.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004361
Comments: 25
Kudos: 184





	Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in eight years, but I've been hyperfixating on this goshdarn musical for weeks and Something Needed To Be Done.  
> Washington is very pissy in this, but tbh his dumbass genius disaster-bi son and his pure of heart, dumb of ass boyfriend do not make it very easy for the poor man.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

John Laurens didn’t consider himself a cautious man. His close and dear friends would maybe even call him a dare-devil on occasion; what could he say, he lived for high risk-high reward situations. The thrill of the moment, the adrenaline coursing through him and making him so certain of every split-second decision as he was of his own name–he flourished under pressure, when other men caved and crumpled, when something needed to be done and fast and without room for mistake; John was a maniac out on the battle-field, his mind zeroing in on the task at hand and not letting much else through. 

As someone who sought excitement, thrill, a challenge, John found himself drawn to Alexander Hamilton from the very beginning. He could tell Hamilton was made of the same material, hot and bright and without proper edges yet, unfinished. 

Hamilton was a hurricane on the best of days. A whirlwind of opinion and action and genius, when he entered a room it shifted to accommodate him and when he left, it felt emptier than it had before.

They were a matched pair. From the first meeting, the two of them clicked, they understood each other in a way their other friends, loved as they may be by both of them, could never hope to. It was John and Alexander, Laurens and Hamilton, always spoken in the same breath. And God, if John didn’t love that. It put a certain exclusivity over them, they were a fortress, no one could conquer them and sure as hell could no one break them apart. Alexander was his, and he was Alexander’s, as long as he would have him. 

Not that that last part was something they got to discuss very often. For the world to see, they were best friends, comrades, brothers in arms, and nothing more. No, they couldn’t afford to let the world see them holding each other close when they slept, always afraid, so afraid, that the next night would come and one of them would be gone. Or the way their fingers fit together perfectly, or the shine of Alexander’s eyes when John whispered _I love you_ to him, or the breathless, debauched way Alexander would say his name when John was inside him.

So. In summary, that’s what had gotten them there, at that exact moment, in that exact position. 

Night had fallen hours ago, but John and Alexander worked late, as they did. They weren’t General Washington’s favourite aides for slacking off on the job, after all; unfortunately for them, their late hours meant everyone else had returned to their beds for the night, which left two impulsive, young and very much in love men who were prone to take risks when apart, but even more so when together, alone in the relative privacy of the general’s office at night. A recipe for disaster, if one were to ask one of their long-suffering friends.

Alexander sat on the edge of his desk, the ink of the strongly-worded letter to congress he finished some time ago long dried, and John stood between his spread thighs, one hand on his narrow waist and the other buried in his soft, dark hair that had been tied back once upon a time, but now fell open around his shoulders. Alexander’s hands wandered as they kissed, from cupping his face to gripping his shoulders to wrapping around his back, but that was his Alex for him, never able to sit too still no matter what.

It must have been near midnight, they hadn’t seen another human soul for hours, and _fuck_ was the way Alex arched his back and whined into the kiss distracting; those were most of the factors at play for why neither of them heard the approaching footsteps. Familiar footsteps at that, footsteps John would have been able to pick out anywhere as long as Alexander’s legs weren’t wrapped around him; the heavy footfalls of a tall man who moved with purpose and precision, not one misstep or falter, and coincidentally also the steps of a man headed to his own office.

Few candles lit the room, and most of the light came from the fireplace, and yet. And _yet_. The general opened the door, probably expecting them to still be there–as it was quite common for Alexander to write into the early morning and for John to work beside him as long as his body would allow–but certainly not expecting to see his two most valuable aides engaged in most certainly illegal activities on the edge of Alexander’s desk. The situation was perfectly obvious, even in the dim light.

John sprang back from Alexander and stood at attention. “Sir!” he said, too loud to his own ears, trying very hard to keep the general’s attention away from his lover’s tousled hair, glazed over eyes and kiss-stained lips.

It worked. The man pushed the door closed behind him, something that John observed with a nervous tingle at the back of his neck, and came to a stop in the middle of the room, leaving John out of reach for the moment. A safe distance. He wondered for how long he would maintain that.

“Lieutenant Colonel Laurens,” he bit out, and already John flinched. Usually he was just John, or even _my boy_ , and that? Addressing him by his rank and family-name? It stung. “if you would be so kind as to explain to me what the everloving _hell_ you were doing between my s- my chief aide de camp’s legs?”

John, ever the adrenaline-junkie, used to the rush and as perceptive as ever, noticed the almost slip-up, but didn’t dwell on it for the moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alexander flush a deep red, a sight that would bring him pleasure under normal circumstances, but, oh well. No time for that.

“I- Sir, we- I think we are just tired and frustrated, Sir, young men at war, surely you’ve seen it before, Sir,” John stuttered out under the unimpressed gaze of his commander in chief. His commander in chief, who was not only unimpressed but also fuming. With the general’s eyes aflame with several kinds of emotions John didn’t want directed at him, and the way his usually stoic expression had shifted into something close to a sneer when he’d addressed him, John didn’t have any doubt he was about to be caught in one of General Washington’s infamous fits of temper.

“This is unacceptable behaviour from both of you! What you just engaged in is a crime before a court of justice and God’s very eyes, and the two of you are lucky that I walked in here instead of, say, Charles Lee! He would have had you dragged outside by your hair and executed via the next suitable tree before you would have even been able to open your mouth to stammer out this nonsense, Laurens,” General Washington’s eyes were like thunder, his brow creased, and muscles tense as though he was ready to pounce any moment, or trying to hold himself back. With a sudden start John realised that he felt sorry for the enemy. The general was like the wrath of God.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sir, I- I don’t know how to explain this, I’m sorry, that I’m sure of, I’m really sorry, you never should have had to see us like that-”

“That’s not the problem, Colonel!” he shouted. Alexander flinched violently, the first reaction he showed during all of this. Unfortunately, it drew the attention of the general. “The _problem_ ,” he started again, volume lower but a dangerous growl in his voice. “is that you are putting not only yourself but also _Alexander_ in mortal danger, for what? A brief moment of release? A fleeting satisfaction? Think about your actions, boy!” He flung his arm out in Alexander’s general direction and gestured to empathise his point. He was absolutely right, of course, even though John was surprised he would direct his scolding that way. He put the man he loved in danger because he didn’t have a better grip on himself, and now they would have to deal with the consequences. His only hope was that the general wasn’t so disgusted with them he would throw them to the wolves without so much as a second thought.

He locked eyes with Alexander, and he looked so unsure, so scared and intimidated, it broke John’s heart. His clenched jaw and red-rimmed eyes showed John an undercurrent of pure hurt. His Alex wasn’t supposed to look like that.

General Washington heaved a sigh that told of a million burdens, and ran a hand over his face, before, fuck, he turned his full attention on Alexander. “And since when are you this stupid, son?” he said.

Alexander bit his lip and stared at the wooden floor-boards, not meeting the general’s gaze; but the man wouldn’t have that, apparently, because General Washington reached out and lifted his chin with care, gently tugging his lower lip free from his teeth. John inhaled sharply and shoved down hard on the urge to tell the man to _back the fuck off_.

“What were you thinking, Alex?” he tried again, voice quieted and sounding like he genuinely wanted to hear the answer.

Alexander’s unsettled eyes hardened with resolve, he stood up straighter, and grabbed the general’s wrist to carefully lower it from his face. They touched each other with such ease, John thought, uncomfortable. He knew his lover was closer with the general than he himself or any other aide was, but _this_ close? So close that they casually touched each other like family would, without a thought?

“I was thinking I love him, Sir,” he answered, and John’s heart might as well have stopped. He waited with bated breath for General Washington to hit Alexander, or throw a chair at John, or simply yell until the walls came down, but he just closed his eyes and breathed. 

“Yes, I thought you might say that,” he said, and John’s jaw dropped. That was it? Surely that couldn’t be it. The next thing out of his mouth would be the announcement of their trial and subsequent hanging in the morrow, and there was nothing they could do about it. “Laurens,” he said, without any heat but still far from the easy companionship from before. 

He swallowed, throat dry. “Sir?” This was it, maybe he would skip the trial all together and just have them hanged at once.

“Calm down, I’m done shouting. I can hear your thoughts racing all the way over here.”

Alexander cracked a small, tentative smile at that, and John was lost. At least Alex didn’t look like he was about to cry at any moment anymore, and the general seemed to have lost the urge to rip them to pieces himself.

Alexander opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, swallowed, and opened it again. “I think it’s time we put all our cards on the table,” he said at last, not quite looking at either of them.

“All of them?” the general asked, one eyebrow raised, and glanced at John.

Alex nodded, having made his decision and sticking by it.

Washington heaved another sigh. “Fine. Start talking, then, dearheart.”

What the actual fuck? _Dearheart_? That wasn’t in the general’s quiver of things to address people as. He used son, and my boy, and lad, and young man, but not something as tender, as personal-

And that’s when it clicked for John, even before Alexander had opened his mouth to explain. The near identical colour of their eyes became glaringly obvious, and the way Alexander’s mouth curled at the corner when he smirked, God, he always thought something about Washington’s grin was familiar, and–shit, that was the reason Alexander hadn't been permitted into a single battle since he had accepted the position of chief aide de camp. He was Washington’s blood, a bastard, but Alex had always been a bastard in everyone’s eyes, the difference was that he wasn’t fatherless anymore.

“You’re his son,” he rushed to say just as Alexander opened his mouth, and he promptly clicked it shut again.

“Yes,” Washington answered instead of Alex, and brushed a stray curl from his son’s forehead, almost absent-minded. “My darling boy,” he added, quietly, for Alexander’s ears. Alex flushed red.

“Stop it, Pa, not in front of John,” he mumbled.

“Fuck, darling,” John breathed out, chest constricting. “You’ve got a father. A real father, and a good one, and- I’m so happy for you.”

The smile that appeared on Alexander’s face almost split it in two, and he rushed over to John until he was close enough to launch his whole body at him. John caught him without trouble and held him tight, burying his face in his hair and hiding his matching smile. They separated a little, Alex’s arms still around his neck and John’s hands firm on his waist. There was guilt in his eyes when they met his. “You’re not angry I kept this from you?”

“How could I be? I mean, right now I’m still a little scared of the general, but he’s a great man and he obviously cares about you, and shit, Alex, darling, you have a dad!”

John ducked down and kissed his lips once, twice, before General Washington cleared his throat pointedly. When John looked back at the man he was presented with a glare that told him to _unhand my son right this instant before I castrate you with a letter-opener_.

His face softened, though, when Alex turned back around to him with that adorable smile on his face. He reached out for him again, and settled a big hand against Alexander’s cheek, a thumb sweeping along his sharp cheek-bone; Alexander leaned into the touch, and his eyes probably slipped closed, because Washington chuckled, an unguarded, tender expression on his usually stoic face. “It’s long past midnight, dearheart. How about you head off to bed while Laurens and I have a little chat, hm?”

John’s eyes widened, and he felt himself go three shades paler.

“I’m not sure I can leave you alone with my John in good conscience, Pa,” he said, obviously tired. The adrenaline-rush left one exhausted more often than not, John knew, and considering how little sleep Alexander got on a regular basis, he was most likely worn out enough to crash.

“Don’t you worry about it, I won’t hurt him. Lay into him a bit, maybe, but I won’t harm him. Promise, my love.”

He hesitated for another moment, then gave in with a mumbled “Fine,” and came back to John to lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before he made for the door. “Don’t keep at it too long, you two should be in bed, too,” he said, and slipped out of the room.

It felt like all the warmth had been sucked out of the office; all the light and presence that was Alexander, removed, and now John was left alone with his calm but furious commanding officer, who was incidentally also the father of the man he loved.

He swallowed thickly. “Sir-”

“Don’t, Laurens,” he cut him off and crossed his arms over his broad chest, keeping silent and watching him for a few moments. Was Washington evaluating him? Judging his character based on this very instance alone? He hoped not, he knew he couldn’t have made the best impression when the man had walked in on him kissing his precious son senseless; or, in other words, committing sodomy and dragging his son down with him.

“You share a room with Alexander,” he said.

Oh, shit. “I do, Sir.”

“Do you want to keep it that way?”

“More than anything, Sir,” he said, his voice climbing in pitch.

The general stepped towards him, and John backed away on instinct, until he hit the wall with a dull _thud_ , but Washington only stopped his advance when he could crowd John in so effectively, none of the room’s dim lights reached him anymore. The man was so goddamn tall, he towered above him with ease, and he looked down at him with something like contempt in his eyes, not that John could make it out very well with all light-sources behind him.

“I am only going to say this once,” he said, voice deadly calm; John wondered if a storm was to come after. “if I hear of even the faintest whisper, the bud of a rumour, that the two of you are engaged in acts of sodomy, I will shift the narrative to put all the blame on you and have you executed. Is that clear?”

His eyes went even wider–they would probably pop clean out of his skull at the slightest nudge. “Yes, Sir, that’s how I would have it, too.” And he did; if there was a way he could take all blame and punishment to let Alexander stay unharmed with his reputation mostly intact, he would take it in a heart-beat. His Alex would go on to do great things, to put his ingenuity and innovation and passion to good use, and John would damn well see he got there, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

General Washington nodded once, and his energy shifted slightly to the left, no longer as threatening. So that had been the right answer, then.

“Good. Now that we are clear on that, another word of warning: if you hurt my boy, in any way at all, and I mean this in even the loosest sense of the word, if you put your hands on him in a way he doesn’t like, or say something that makes him cry, make him cry at all, I _fucking dare you_ , and I will _end_ you, Laurens.”

John forgot how to breathe for a hot minute there. He had never heard the general curse like that, but he had also never experienced the general look so soft as when he had cupped Alexander’s cheek, so what he was learning this fine evening was that Washington was a multi-facetted man. One who wouldn’t hesitate to absolutely wreck John if he thought he deserved it.

He cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “You will be pleased to hear, Sir, that I have been most ardently avoiding all those things since our entanglement started,” he croaked. He stared at the little space of floor between them, not sure if he would be able to meet that burning gaze again. That decision was taken from him, though.

“Laurens, look me in the eye like a man and tell me what you want with Alex,” he commanded, and as any soldier’s would, John’s eyes snapped up to his general’s face. His breath hitched in his throat; Washington was glowering, yes, but there was something more to it. He seemed expectant. He wanted to hear what John had to say.

“Sir,” he began, trying to detangle all the thoughts and feelings that blossomed in his chest every time he thought about his lover. “I want to keep him safe, and happy. I want to make him smile more often. I want to be at his side when he is afraid or overwhelmed, I want to be his safe haven, someone he can be honest with, no matter what.” He swallowed under Washington’s calculating stare. What he was about to say next was a wager, something that could pay off or earn him a slap to the face, but he needed to say it, he needed him to hear it. “I want to hold him, and kiss him, and wake up next to him every single day for the rest of my life, I want to make him feel as loved as he makes me feel. Your son is an amazing man, Sir, and I love Alexander for everything he is, most dearly, with all my heart.”

General Washington deflated a bit and looked upon him with an expression John couldn’t place. He stepped back and away from him, and John felt the pressure lift so suddenly, he thought he might have collapsed if not for the wall in his back.

“Good enough,” he said at last, strange expression still on his face. “I would tell you to refrain from being indecent with him, but I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that, with the way the boy squirms in his seat sometimes.”

Oh, _shit_. A violent blush came over John, his blood rushing to his face so quickly, his arms and legs went numb. Well, that could have been a side-effect of the dread that made a home of the pit of his stomach, now that he thought about it. 

The general had suspected them even before this, of course he had, he hadn’t gotten to Major General for not seeing what was happening right under his nose, _shit_ , he knew what John and Alex had done with each other, no wonder he was so fucking pissed.

“I’m… sorry, Sir?” he tried, his voice an uncharacteristic squeak.

Washington sighed, resigned. “No, you’re not. Now, go. We both know Alex won’t go to sleep before he’s certain you’ve survived this encounter.”

John got himself together and saluted. “Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir!”

The general shook his head and heaved another sigh, flapping a hand at him. “Yes, yes. Dismissed, Colonel.”

He sure as hell did not have to hear that twice, and he removed himself from the office as calmly as he could manage, only to take off in a sprint to their shared room as soon as the door closed behind him.

When he entered, Alex was, predictably, still awake, curled up in the light of a lone candle on their bedside table. He looked up from the book he’d occupied himself with, smiled a careful smile at him as he closed it, and put it away.

“So?” he said and propped himself further up against the headboard. John strode over to their shared bed, the other one in the room untouched in weeks, and chucked his boots and jacket off on the way, so he could drop into bed right next to Alexander and pull him close to his chest.

“That was the scariest fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know how I will ever be able to look the general in the eye again,” he said, suppressing a shudder.

“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbled and brought his hands up to cup John’s face and stroke escaped strands of dark hair back behind his ears.

John sighed and wrestled a smile onto his face. “Don’t be. I’m glad you have someone like him in your corner, darling,” he said and nuzzled their noses together.

Alexander made a low sound of pleasure and shifted to kiss him, arms wrapping around John’s neck and one leg thrown over his hip.

“Oh, my dearest…” John muttered against his lips, wanting nothing more than to draw him closer and have his way with him, but something stopped him. He broke free of the kiss, but didn’t let go, ignoring Alexander’s whine at his sudden retreat.

“Alex, before we go any farther, I have to inform you- I really don’t know how to phrase this delicately, but- well. Your father,” still a strange title to put to the general, he thought. “well, your father knows I put my dick in you on occasion.”

Alexander blinked up at him, the picture of confusion, before the mortified realisation set in. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you _tell him that_?” he hissed out, torn between angry embarrassment and justified worry. If John had actually told him that to his face, the general would have shot him in the dick right then and there.

“I didn’t!” he said, squirming at the mental image alone. “He figured it out himself. He suspected us long before tonight, you know.”

Alex dropped his forehead to John’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he said, dryly.

“Yeah,” John agreed.

Conversation ceased after that, and they simply held onto each other until the exhaustion after the adrenaline-rush that was tonight claimed them both.

* * *

A few doors down, General Washington sat at his desk and cleaned his gun. He liked Laurens, he thought he was a bright, young man with a chance at a good life after the war. The lad could make something of himself, if he so desired.

He had always known his son liked the man, had seen the love-sick, pining glances they had shot each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking, had watched the initial puppy-love grow into something deeper. His sweet boy had decided John Laurens was the man he wanted to give himself to, and Washington would have to accept that.

Until Laurens misstepped. If he dared disturb the pieces of his son’s already broken heart, if he caused him even an ounce of pain, if he did anything that put them at the risk of discovery, Washington wouldn’t hesitate. And Alexander would never forgive him.

He put the rag down, placed his gun back into the drawer he had pulled it from, and locked it.

It wasn’t a hard choice between preserving his son’s happiness or his life. He wouldn’t lose another child, not if he could help it, and not to something as benign as societal norms, even if Alexander would hate him for it. For saving him and sacrificing Laurens.

Washington didn’t care. He was selfish in a way only a parent could be; a living, breathing, broken and shattered Alexander was better than no Alexander at all.

Even if it broke his heart to think he could be the man to hurt his boy most.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
